The Princess and the Scoundrel
by TheLivelyBunch
Summary: He is casteless; she is nobility. He is dwarven; she is human. He seeks atonement; she seeks revenge. They're as different as night and day. So how could either one expect friendship... or even romance? FCousland x MBrosca !ONESHOT!


Humans were a rare sight in Orzammer. An inquisitive dwarven citizen, perpetually dedicated to the fine art of gossip, may only recall two or three visiting humans per year.

Grey Wardens, on the other hand, were much more unusual. Two Grey Wardens were unheard of. A human Grey Warden traveling with a dwarven Grey Warden would be completely unthinkable. Especially if that same dwarf once belonged with the casteless scum of Dust Town, the local embarrassment to all dwarven citizens, and the human belonged to nobility.

Imagine, then, the astonishment many citizens experienced when they witnessed such a pair traveling companionably in the city of Orzammer. Imagine how they gossiped when the pair - a female human and a male dwarf – entered Tapster's Tavern alone, unaccompanied by the others in their group.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Joan Cousland muttered to Feren Brosca. The two had found themselves a quieter corner of the tavern, slightly removed from the joyful or sorrowful racket made by the countless inebriated patrons.

Though she and her human companions traveled days in the Dwarven city, Orzammar, they still received the sidelong glances and distrustful stares specially reserved for outsiders. Luckily for her, the patrons of Tapsters Tavern were either too drunk or too preoccupied with their own troubles to care if a human sat amongst them.

"What's the matter," Feren said, "still upset that I wouldn't invite Alistair?" He smiled to show that he was teasing, but Joan blushed all the same.

"You didn't invite _anyone_ else to come with us," she corrected. "Why couldn't we have gone somewhere else, like the Spoiled Princess? At least there no one stares at me for being an outsider."

"And you suppose that Dwarves are common on the surface?" he questioned her slyly. He was careful to keep his tone neutral; he didn't drag her all the way to Orzammar for another argument.

But she surprised him. "Oh, I'm sorry," she groaned, covering her face with hands. "You're right, of course you're right. That was a stupid thing for me to say. It hasn't exactly been easy for you on the surface, has it?"

"It's okay," he said quickly. "Don't worry about it. Besides, many stare at you regardless of their races. No one's used to seeing someone so pretty travel with someone so ugly."

Joan blushed again and smiled. "Oh, don't say that!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening. "I don't think you're ugly."

He grinned impishly. "Who says I'm talking about me? Sten, you know, isn't exactly easy on the eyes…."

Joan threw her head back and laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "You're such a rascal," she said, "you make me laugh." When her giggling finally subsided, she bravely sipped the mug of ale Feren purchased for her. She set it down almost immediately. "Ugh. Well, it certainly tastes different."

Feren drank his malt greedily, forcing every drop down his throat. When he finished, he slammed the tankard down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Now that's good stuff," he sighed. "How I've missed the taste."

"And what taste is that? Dust and dirty socks boiled in alcohol?" Joan asked.

Now it was his turn to laugh. "Aye. You humans have to get used to the flavor first before you can enjoy it. Anyway, it tastes more like dust and dirty socks boiled in ogre piss to me."

They laughed again, easing into the familiar comfort of each other's company. After a few minutes, Joan's expression softnened and she looked at him seriously. "So, why did you take me here alone?" she questioned. "It wasn't just to talk about dirty socks and ogre piss, was it?"

Feren shrugged casually. "Nah. I just figured we both deserved a break." He leaned back in his chair and scanned the barroom, a peculiar expression lighting his face. "You know," he said slowly, "this was one of my favorite places to drink before I became a Grey Warden."

Maria looked to him in surprise. Feren never willingly spoke of his past to anyone. She leaned forward and said: "tell me about it".

"Rica and I never had money growing up," he began. "Our mother spent most of the extra coins on alcohol for herself. Rica and I had to beg for our food."

"That sounds horrible," Joan murmured. Her hand twitched, as though she considered reaching for his hand but falling short.

Feren nodded. "It was," he said grimly. "We used to hope that things would improve when we were older. I used to fantasize about finding a job and buying food for my family. It never happened. No one could or would give jobs to the casteless."

"That tattoo on your face," she interjected, "that's the mark of the casteless, right?"

"It is. It's also why I've never grown a beard. I want people to see my markings, to know who I am."

"I would too," she agreed. And he continued.

"Eventually, a man named Beraht took notice upon Rica. She was young and beautiful, and therefore a good candidate for a noble hunter. He took both of us in, giving me odd jobs and buying Rica a noble-hunter license. He wanted to whore her out to the male nobles in hopes that she would produce a male heir."

"What was Beraht like?" Joan asked. This time, she did place her hand over his. She squeezed his hand, as though hoping to comfort him.

"Beraht was scum. He was a greedy bastard who only thought of advancing himself. He never cared about anyone else," Feren said, bitterness hardening his voice. "He abused and threatened Rica. He made me do all of his dirty work. I hated him so goddamn much, but I needed him because he paid for our food."

"Would it bother you," he said suddenly, turning to her, "if I said that I stole for Beraht? That I threatened and terrified the people who owed him money?"

Joan stirred the rancid ale in her flagon with her finger, as though considering his question. After a moment she looked up, meeting his eyes. "No," she said, "it doesn't. That man – Beraht – threatened your sister. You needed his coins for food. That didn't leave you with much of a choice."

Feren grunted. "I'm surprised you see it that way. Even I can't excuse what I did."

Joan shook her head. "But none of that stuff matters now. You worked for Beraht – yes - but you're not a bad person. When I look at you, I don't see a thief or a bully or a murderer."

He met her eyes. "What do you see?", he asked.

She leaned forward, staring deep into his eyes. "I see a Grey Warden," she whispered.

He smiled, though it didn't quite meet his eyes. "You know," he muttered, "I can almost believe that when you say it."

"Then I'll say it more often," she replied firmly. "Maybe then you'll eventually believe it yourself. You're a Grey Warden now, one of the best. Nobody can take that away from you."

Feren signaled for another drink, trying not to look too pleased. "Do you remember what you said when we first met?"

Joan, who'd been taking another cautious sip of her ale, looked up in surprise. "You mean that remark I made about your height?" she sighed. "Why did you have to bring that up now? Now I feel like apologizing again."

"Well, then I'd have to apologize for calling you a 'pampered bitch'," he said gently. "Anyway, that's not what I'm referring to. I meant when you said: 'I only want justice'. What did you mean?"

"Well," she began carefully, "I told you that Duncan conscripted me after my family was murdered, right?" He nodded. "He was the one responsible. He ordered his men to attack my family when we were weakest." Joan's vision suddenly blurred; her tears came without warning. "Oh, damn these tears," she said angrily, turning away from Faren.

"So that's why you were so desperate to go to Denerim," he said in dawning comprehension. "Oh Joan, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Why didn't you at least tell Alistair?"

"Alistair's not the one I wanted to tell," she sniffed.

"Then why didn't you tell Zevran or Wynne or Leliana?"

"Because I don't trust Zevran, and I didn't think Wynne and Leliana would understand. I thought _you _would."

"I do," he said, surprised and touched. "Believe me, I do." He reached across the dirty table and gently lifted her chin. "Howe will pay, Joan. I promise."

She awarded him with a watery smile. When she spoke, however, her voice was steady. "I know. And I want you right there with me when he pays."

"Babe," he smiled, "you can count on me."

A moment passed; both of them pondered the other. In that moment, Joan realized that she'd grown to appreciate the Feren's subtle handsomeness: his dark red hair, his deep green eyes, and his strong features despite, of course, his occasional moments of unwavering stubbornness.

Feren, in that moment, realized that he found Joan's features beautiful: her black hair, her bright blue eyes, her pale skin. And he realized that, deep down; he'd always found her beautiful, though sometimes infuriating.

But none of that seemed to matter now, now in of all places: Tapster's Tavern. They leaned closer; they kissed. Joan touched the side of his face; he stroked her hair. It was tender and it was beautiful. And they didn't give a damn about what the citizens of Orzammer, or anywhere else for that matter, would say.

Fin.

Author's Note: I hope everyone enjoyed my first DA fanfic! I had this plot bunny hopping around in my head for days before I finally decided to write it. True, it's an unusual pairing, but I think it works nicely with the DA storyline. Since it's not a popular pairing, I don't expect too many reviews (though they would be appreciated). At least it felt good to write it.


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